


mine

by manbunjon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, blowjobs in the pilot’s chair, din is a soft boi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24178036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: He’s rough, greedy, hungry. It was like he has to have you, any time he could, every time he could, like he wants to feel every part of you he had so long ago claimed as his. Like he had to touch you, had to put his hands on you. Had to let his hands wander down to your hips so that he could pull your legs apart and urge you down into his lap, had to pinch at your nipples and let the buttery leather of his gloves slide over your breasts before they slid down your back to cup your arse in each big hand.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 120





	mine

**Author's Note:**

> [inspired by marie’s horny tweet](https://twitter.com/softskywaIker/status/1260742823487422464?s=20)

Din never realising that he could become so addicted to something as simple as your touch.

From the very first time you had laid your hands on him, when you had leaned forward and placed your bare palm upon his forearm, he had been sure he was half in love with you. He had been able to feel the warmth of your skin even through the layers of Beskar steel and cotton he had worn and it had awakened something in of him, unlocked some craving he had never known he wanted, needed.

He had ached to feel your soft hands all over him, desperate to feel them against his bare back, his bare chest, his bare cock, wondering how you'd hold him, touch him, how you'd run your fingers over his cock and his hips and his arse.

Beneath his mask he had licked his lips, trying to push the image of your mouth around his cock out of his mind.

You always rested you hand on his shoulder when he was sitting and you stood behind him, a gesture of silent comfort, of solidarity, a gentle reminder that you were there with him, for him. As he took his place in the pilot's seat and sat you beside him you often laid your hand upon his knee or, if you were in a particularly teasing mood, on his upper thigh, your hand sweeping back and forth across his skin until he could feel tiny pinpricks of electricity jolting just beneath his skin.

You made him dizzy, made him crazy, made him feel like he couldn't breathe. And he loved it, loved you. Loved every time you came out of the refresher humming some song he had never heard of, loved the nights when he found you curled up tight as an air shrimp with the child's hands fisted tightly in your shirtfront, loved when you woke up in the morning and padded over to him, all bare feet and long legs, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders so that you could pull yourself into his lap and seat yourself on the throne of his firm thighs.

There was just something about your touch that just set his teeth on edge.

He’s rough, greedy, hungry. It was like he has to have you, any time he could, every time he could, like he wants to feel every part of you he had so long ago claimed as his. Like he had to touch you, had to put his hands on you. Had to let his hands wander down to your hips so that he could pull your legs apart and urge you down into his lap, had to pinch at your nipples and let the buttery leather of his gloves slide over your breasts before they slid down your back to cup your arse in each big hand.

He loves the way you smile at him so big and bright whenever he pulls you to him, the way your cheeks flush so pretty when he makes you come, the way you hum softly into his kiss as though uttering a silent prayer to whatever God it is that you believe in, whatever God it is that he should be thanking for bringing you to him.

He was addicted to you, in every way a man could be addicted to a woman, and there wasn’t a single part of you that minded.

It had been almost two days since he’d had you last, and when he slides the ship into autopilot it’s like you can sense it, sense his need, sense the way his cock is already stirring at his breeches just at the thought of how you'd sink down onto him tight as a vice, the way he'd bury his nose against your clit and make you scream loud enough to be heard in space.

You’re in his lap before he can even turn to face you, draping your arms around his neck and tugging lightly at the back of his hair with your fingers. His lips find yours with practiced ease, pushing against you with what he hopes is urgency enough to show his need. He has to have you, has to be inside you or else he’ll go mad.

You’re nodding your head before he can even speak, sliding down his lap until you’re seated on the floor between his firm thighs, and you’ve pulled down a pillow from your seat at the helm to rest your knees upon. Din lets his head roll back, overcome by the sight, overcome by the way you lick your lips as your nimble fingers work at his belt, and he’s thankful that he had thought to seal off the back of the ship where the child sleeps fitfully.

You kiss the head of his cock like an introduction, smoothing a thumb over the weeping head to spread around the thick beads that dew at the slit you just cant seem to stop kissing. He grunts, stomach tight, and he wants you naked, wants to feel the slide of bare skin on bare skin.

He tugs at your shirt impatiently and grins as it lifts easily up and over your head, glad to find you had yet to bind your breasts as you always did during your journeys to the outer rim. He cups each breast gently as you continue to work at him, planting a set of warm, sloppy kisses against his cock that leave him breathless, and its almost too much, almost not enough, his hips twitching toward your mouth.

You smile against him, lips brushing over his cock as you bend your head to take him fully. He groans long and low, your mouth so warm and wet and deep that its all he can do not to surge up from his chair and fuck up your mouth. Instead Din just grips the edge of his seat like a vice, digging his fingers into the soft leather to keep from reaching for you.

But as always— you can read his expression as easily as if you were reading one of those texts he always finds you curled up with before bed, and you push your head lower, taking more more more of him until he can feel the head of his cock bump against the back of your throat.

You hum in satisfaction, making him cry out in pleasure. “Fuck—“ he gasps, breathless.

He can feel the undulation of your throat as you continue to suck and move and hum around his cock, your fist squeezing the base of him where he can no longer fit into your mouth. Your teeth scrape gently over him, just light enough to make him shiver, just light enough to make his orgasm begin to dance just out of reach.

He bites the tip of his finger with his teeth and pulls until the leather of his glove gives and begins to slide free, his fingers rough and callused as they slid up your back, rubbing gently at your shoulder blades before moving to the back of your head, tugging at your hair just hard enough to show his reverent appreciation. His other hand reaches for yours where it rests on his thigh, bracing your weight against his as you suck him deep, and he tangles his fingers in yours, bringing the back of your hand to his lips to kiss and kiss and kiss you until his lips feel electric, feel numb.

Your tongue works over his cock from head to base, your free hand lowering to squeeze gently at his balls in the way you know always sends him stuttering over the edge. “Fuck.” he gritted, gathering your hair back from your face in his free hand. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes flick up to his and he almost comes tight then and there, trapped in your scorching gaze, watching as your lust filled eyes darken with pleasure at the praise. “I’ve never known anyone like you before.” he confesses, not even sure why he says it. His thumb traces over the back of your hand, as soft and tender and unassuming as if you weren’t currently gagging in his cock.

“Of all the people I’ve ever met, you’re my favourite.” he says, and he smiles then, choking out a moan that contorts his handsome face into a look of pure ecstasy.

You bob your head down further onto his cock, kiss swollen lips shimmering with spit and slick and so damned pretty that he just wants to haul you up to your feet and kiss you all over. Your fingers are so soft against his, compared to his, as smooth skin and delicate features, without the calluses and scars so long as a bounty hunter had left him. He wants to kiss each one of them in turn, each one of your hands, following the lines of your forearms to your elbows and arms and shoulders until he can follow the curve of your neck, the slope of your jaw, the perfect curves of your lips.

He presses a hand down on the back of your head when he feels his orgasm begin to sweep over him, the familiar liquid curl of pleasure flooding his system and rising up and up and up until it threatens to consume him. You nod your head and pull him deeper, feeling his soft head press into the back of your throat so far that you almost gag, almost choke over him, and his ego swells right there along with his pleasure.

He squeezes your hand softly when he feels himself coming, spilling down your throat as he has so many times before, listening to you hum tenderly as you continue to stroke him with your tongue, your teeth scraping over him in a way that has him yelling, his moans flooding the cabin like an alarm, and the sound alone brings goosebumps to your arms and wetness to your panties.

You pull away from him to nuzzle your cheek into his belly, kissing his bare hip where his breeches had been wrestled open.

“I love you.” you say, and the words make warmth flare in his blood like they do every time he hears them, every time you say them with that pretty smile on your face, that pretty blush on your cheeks, and he knows, he knows, just like he had that very first time he had ever clapped eyes on you, that he loves you too.


End file.
